Talking to Dad
by Malebron
Summary: It is twelve years since the battle in the Department of Mysteries . . . we know of the Room of Requirement, and of the Mirror of Erised, but Hogwarts castle is a place of many mysteries and infinite possibilities. It should not, therefore, surprise us to learn of other hidden places and other mirrors . . .


_This is an epilogue to 'Secret Life of a Black Dog' &amp; 'Dark Birthright', and a prologue to 'Finding the Way Home'_

_._

* * *

**Talking to Dad**

* * *

Hidden among purple mountains and dark glacial lochs is Hogwarts Castle; the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The thick walls encompass the framework within which its students are protected and nurtured as they make their transition from childhood to adulthood.

We know of the Room of Requirement, and also of the Mirror of Erised, but the castle is a place of many mysteries and infinite possibilities. It should not, therefore, surprise us to learn of other hidden places and other mirrors, or that on a quiet Saturday afternoon in October, a first-year looking for a private place should find, at the end of a dusty and little-used corridor, just what she needed.

Her name was Megan and she was dark-haired with calm grey eyes and a smile that could light a room when she chose to use it. Of average height and build for an eleven year old girl, she had learned to be content in her own company for she had no brothers or sisters, no aunts, uncles or grandparents, and had never known a father.

On the evening of her very first day at Hogwarts, the Sorting Hat had paused briefly in its deliberations. _Ah, a complicated one,_ it had whispered happily into her ear. _What shall we do with you? Will you take the House of the Always Pure, or of the Rebel Seed perhaps? Or . . . no. You shall be what you are. _

_Ravenclaw!_

And Megan had not understood what it meant but had been satisfied with its choice.

A smart girl, self-contained and quick witted, she had a talent for making others laugh and for making others think. She had friends, though as yet no favourites. She would one day, she knew, but she would choose carefully. For loyalty, once bestowed, has to be respected and cherished. Such choices should not be not made impulsively.

She missed her mother and she missed her Muggle friends. She missed the neat patchwork of fields and hedges at home, and her dog, and the safety of their little cottage, and the Staffordshire oatcakes she sometimes had for breakfast on a Sunday or tea on a Saturday. But more than she missed all those things, she loved learning magic and she loved her new school. So do not think that Megan was a lonely girl, and do not think she was unhappy, for she was neither.

And so, on this afternoon, looking for somewhere private, she happened upon a door. It was an interesting one, carved with strange words she did not recognise.

_senotsol dnifot ,retne._

She tried the door knob and it turned smoothly.

The room conveniently contained precisely what she was looking for. A simple chair and a table with a mirror on it in a wooden frame, of the kind that can be angled to suit, and a couple of candlesticks beside it. In truth there was nothing else of consequence in there, and nothing else was needed.

For Megan owned an eyeliner pencil she had never really had an opportunity to try. She kept it in her Muggle pencil case with a sheet of glittery little stickers of varying shapes and many shades of pink.

Several of her friends from primary school were, by the age of eleven, already quite experienced in such matters. They had what she privately considered more enlightened mothers than her own. Mothers who allowed - even sometimes encouraged - experimentation with make-up and other such things.

Her own mother however, being rather - Megan thought - old fashioned and set in her ways, had taken a dim view of what she described as 'Turning little girls into jailbait.' Megan didn't know what 'jailbait' was exactly, but gathered it was a Bad Thing.

She lit the candles, still delighting in the novelty of using her new wand, and looked into the mirror. She polished it a little with her sleeve and squinted at herself. She was slightly startled to note that the clear grey eyes looking back at her did not squint at the same time. Curiously, she did it again. The eyes definitely belonged to someone else.

Then, slowly, they blinked.

She gave a little jump of alarm. "Hello?" she said cautiously. For she was a cautious child.

There was the sound of an indrawn breath. "Is there someone else in this dark place?" The voice was male, adult. It sounded hoarse and dry, as if from lack of use.

"I'm here," she said. "I'm Megan. Who are you?"

"Who am I?" There was a prolonged silence. "Truthfully, I'm afraid I don't know."

"How can you not know who you are?"

"I don't know that either."

Although the voice was sad, regretful, the sound of it made her feel very happy for she had heard it before. "Oh. Well, I'm pretty sure I know who you are. I know your voice, you see. I've heard it in my dreams quite a lot. Dreams are very important, you know."

"Have you really?"

"Yes." Megan was confident. "You're my dad. I know you are, because you always say, _'Your daddy loves you, little one.'_ And you're talking to me, you see. so that's how I know you're my dad."

The voice inside the mirror seemed to be struggling for a reply, but Megan was quite used to this happening during her conversations with adults.

"Do you really think so?" said the voice.

"Yes, I've got a Feeling about it. My Feelings are never wrong."

"Never?"

"Never," she said firmly. "But you're dead."

"Dead? Is that what I am? I had wondered. But then . . . how are you talking to me?"

"Well, I'm not entirely sure. But I expect it's because I want to talk to you ever so much."

"I'm not sure I am dead, you know," he said, sounding thoughtful. "I don't think it would be quite like this if I was."

"Oh!" she said, surprised. "Aren't you a ghost then?"

"If I was a ghost, would I have a body?"

"No, I don't think so. Have you got a body then? Not just a skeleton?"

There were faint sounds as of movement, the painful cracking of stiff joints; a thudding noise as if in the distance someone had stamped their feet.

"I've definitely got a body," he said. "Feet and hands and everything. And I'm standing on something hard."

"Well, if you're not dead, then where are you?" she said. "And what's more important, where have you been all my life. Why did you leave us? Before I was even born!"

The voice was hesitant. "I don't remember. I don't think I wanted to leave. Circumstances beyond my control and so on."

"But you didn't come back."

"No. Apparently not. When is it?"

"What do you mean, when is it? Do you mean what's the date?"

"I expect that's what I mean, yes"

"It's the eighteenth of October, two thousand and eight."

"Two thousand and eight." he said each word slowly as if testing it for famliarity .

"Does that help?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"If you're not really dead, you could come back. If you really wanted to," Megan said wistfully. "If you really _really_ wanted to, you would find your way back to us."

"Do you think so?" he said. "Where are you?"

"I'm at Hogwarts. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," she said with pride. "Have you heard of it?"

"Yes, I think so. I think I went there once."

"That's excellent," she said. "That means you were a wizard. Are, I mean," she corrected herself.

"I suppose so. What House are you in?"

"I'm in Ravenclaw," she said. "The Sorting Hat wasn't sure at first, but it made the right decision in the end."

"Ravenclaw!" The voice sounded surprised. "Are you a clever girl then?"

"Yes, I suppose I am quite clever. And I don't like Quidditch or making lots of noise or playing mean jokes on people so I was glad not to be in Slytherin or Gryffindor. And Hufflepuff . . . well, you know."

"Oh yes, I know." Now the voice was amused.

"I can't wait to be in third year, then I can take Divination and Astrology."

_"Divination. And Astrology?"_ The voice in the mirror was baffled.

"Yes. I'm going to take them at NEWT level, and then when I've left Hogwarts I'm going to go to a Muggle university and study physics and astronomy. And then I'm going to combine the two things and become a Scientific Astrologer."

"Oh." There was a very long pause. "Are you absolutely_ sure_ I'm your dad?"

"Oh yes," she said. "I can see your eyes in this mirror, you know. I've got your eyes, my Mum said so. I've got a picture of you at home. There's only one and I like it a lot but I have to hide it under my mattress because it makes her really sad to see it. She says she can't remember you, but it still makes her sad. I don't like it when my Mum is sad."

"No," he said softly. "Mums shouldn't be sad."

"I've got to go now," she said, "or someone will come looking for me. Can we talk again soon?"

"I don't know. I don't see why not. I'll . . . look forward to it."

Megan smiled and leaned over to place a happy kiss in the middle of the cold glass. She selected a heart-shaped sticker from her pencil case and stuck it with care on the edge of the mirror next to the frame. Then after blowing out the candles, she left the room and went to find her friends.

.

* * *

"Dad? Are you there?" She knew he was. She could feel his presence on the other side of the mirror.

"Megan? Is that you?"

"Of course it's me. Who else would it be?"

"How long is it since we talked last?"

"It's been a week. I'm sorry, I couldn't get back sooner."

"That's all right. I can't tell. It could have been a minute ago or a decade. Or a century. So, a week then," he said thoughtfully. "Tell me about your mum."

"Mum? What do you want to know?"

"Well, what does she look like?"

"Oh! Well, she's quite old but I think she's still really pretty," said Megan decisively, "but I wish she would wear nicer clothes. She just wears jeans all the time. Can't you remember what she looks like?"

"I wish I could, but no, I can't. I'm sorry. Is she nice?"

"Oh yes, she's really nice. Mostly. She does get cross sometimes. And she got really angry when the washing machine broke down and flooded the kitchen. She smashed a plate on purpose! But then she had to clear the bits away, so it didn't help."

"Does she get cross with you?" He sounded anxious.

"Sometimes. She does if she catches me using her sewing scissors to cut paper with. And she didn't like it when I put tadpoles in the bath without asking first. But I was quite little then. I'm more mature now. Mum says I'm eleven going on sixty. What do you think she means?"

He gave a soft chuckle. "I think she means that you understand a lot of things."

"She makes really good cakes."

"Cakes. . . oh!"

"Yes. The cakes here are all right, but my mum's are better. When I go home for Christmas, she's going to make a chocolate cake. That's my favourite. When you come home she'll make you cakes too!"

"When I come home . . . ?"

"Well you will, won't you? Now you've talked to me? Or don't you want to meet me?" Suddenly she sounded vulnerable.

"Oh Sweetheart, of course I do."

"She won't let me wear make-up."

"Won't she? Why not?"

"She said she didn't want me to experience the negative consequences arising from the early objectification and commodification of girls in a chauvinist world."

"Merlin's beard! Did she really say that?"

"Yes, but I think she was in a bit of a bad mood."

"Does your mum wear make-up?"

Megan thought for a moment. "Hardly ever," she said at last. "Just sometimes."

"And does she look better when she wears it?"

Megan thought hard again. "Well, she looks nice with it on," she said, "but – well, she doesn't really look like Mum."

"Well, there's your answer."

"I need to think this through," she said. "It's Halloween soon. I'll come and talk to you again then."

"You do that." His voice was gentle. "Look after yourself Megan."

"I always do," she said cheerfully. "See ya!" After some thought, she selected another sticker for the mirror. This one was in the shape of a flower.

.

* * *

"Are you there, Dad?"

"Yes, I am."

"It's Halloween, Dad. Some people say this is the time when the barriers between the worlds grow thin. And they're right, you know. I've got a Feeling"

"Is it, now? I thought I could sense something . . . changing. Yes."

"If you're going to get out and come home, it'll have to be soon. If you're going to do it you'll have to hurry up or wait for another year!"

"Yes, I think you're right. I feel a cold wind. It's blowing the fabric of the curtain. Sh! Can you hear?

Megan listened hard. "I can't hear anything, Dad."

"It's tearing. The darkness is tearing apart. I can see lines of power like a path leading away from here."

"Then you must follow the lines, Dad, and if you hear someone calling, you must go to them. You must! Promise me you will!"

"I promise, Megan. I promise."

.

She chose two stickers this time, in the shapes of a star and a moon.

* * *

.

"Dad? Are you there? Dad?"

The mirror was resolutely empty. Megan didn't mind. Her dad was on his way back, she was quite sure of it. She had a Feeling. She was really looking forward to meeting him.

She spent some time at the mirror, perfecting the application of her eyeliner. When she was finally satisfied, she carefully arranged the remaining stickers into what she considered was a pretty pattern on the glass. They were a bit childish really, she thought, and not appropriate now that she was growing up.

She blew out the candles, pulled the door closed behind her, and headed back down into the school to see if anyone would notice the difference.

.


End file.
